Chapter 52 Chiara
Chiara
Kane looks surprised when I offer to stay. “I can help.” Three words I never expected to hear myself say, but here we are. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m part of this fucked-up family, and if they go down, I go down with them.
“The lawyers are on their way, kitten. The feds might think they’ve hit the jackpot, but I can guarantee this will all be resolved in a few hours. Angelo would be much happier if you were safe at the house.”
Of course he would. The bastard is probably worried I’ll make a scene and play the victim. A few months ago, I would have, but not now because I have too much to lose.
“And would you prefer me at home, safe and sound?” I place my hand on Kane’s chest. His steady heartbeat tells me he’s not worried by what’s happened, which helps soothe my nerves.
He leans in closer. To anyone watching, it looks like we’re exchanging a private word, but out of sight, his hand slides up my jean-clad thigh until it’s perilously close to my aching center.
“I’d prefer you bent over the kitchen table, with your pretty pussy on show for me, kitten.”
I forget to breathe for a moment as the image he paints takes shape in my mind.
“That’s…”
Warm lips brush the skin below my ear before he tucks a loose strand of hair out of the way. Then he slaps my ass and pushes me toward the door.
“Home sweet home, kitten. I need to stay here for the moment, so Carlo will drive you home.”
When I look up, Cecelia is watching the two of us with a mixture of envy and disgust. She’s made no secret of the fact she would very much like to bang my husband and Kane. Probably together, if the way she pants when the two of them walk past her desk is any indication.
I smirk at her. It makes me feel better knowing she’ll never have either of them.
The bitch sneers for a hot minute before a federal agent in a cheap suit appears with a list of requests, top of which is decent coffee. Cecelia simpers and flutters her eyelashes at the man, who apparently finds the braindead bimbo aesthetic attractive because he puffs up his chest and smiles.
Kane tracks my gaze and grins.
“She’s playing a part, kitten. Flirting with the agents is a distraction technique.”
I snort. Of course he’d think that.
“Sure. Is she playing a part when she flirts with you and Angelo?”
He considers that for a moment while Cecelia goes all out, pushing her tits into the agent’s face as she leans over to ask whether he wants cream in his coffee.
“No. She wants to fuck us,” he admits with a laugh. “But that won’t ever happen.” He hustles me toward the door. “Now move, kitten, before I’m forced to spank your ass some more.”
I catch Cecelia watching me again as the agent barks an order at his minion, and I can’t resist winking at her. To my surprise, she winks back at me before popping an extra button on her already half-unbuttoned pink blouse.
Huh, maybe Cecelia isn’t so bad after all. Even if she would love to fuck my husband.
“Carlo and Tucker will drive you back, kitten,” Kane says. I hate the fact Kane isn’t coming with me, but I nod anyway. “There’ll be a second car following.”
“We’ll keep you safe, Mrs. Di Rossi. Don’t worry,” Carlo says from the driver’s seat. His gaze slides down my chest for a hot second, but I don’t react. I don’t particularly like the guy, but Kane seems to trust him. At least Tucker’s with us. He’s always polite.
“Damn right you’ll keep her safe,” Kane growls. “Or your ass is on the line.”
“Don’t be a prick,” I mutter under my breath. Kane squeezes my hand out of sight of his men, and I wince at the bite of pain.
“We’ll be back later,” he tells me before whispering under his breath, “Make sure you’re ready for a spanking.”
He helps me into the back seat and clips me in, all the while touching me far more than he needs to, which gets me all kinds of hot and bothered and helps distract me from the anxiety swirling in the pit of my stomach.
The car pulls out of the underground garage, past the security checkpoint, and into the late afternoon traffic. Carlo and Tucker chat quietly while a talk radio host rants about some political scandal I care little about.
After a while, I zone out. By the time we reach the city’s boundaries, I’m almost asleep. The guys are quiet now, vigilant for trouble since this is where we came under attack last time. But I feel better knowing there’s another car somewhere behind and it’s broad daylight.
My eyes drift shut, and I doze off.
I’m rudely woken a short time later by the sound of a gunshot reverberating through the car. When I look up, Tucker slumps against the window with a bloody crater in the side of his head and brain matter all over the seat.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Di Rossi,” Carlo says, calm as a cucumber. “Money talks.”
Nothing he says makes sense. My ears ring from the gunshot at such close range, and my heart is pounding from a massive infusion of adrenaline. “What?”
Carlo doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes a sharp left onto a dirt track. I unclip my seatbelt and wrench the door handle, but it’s locked. The privacy screen goes up, and no matter how much I yell and scream, Carlo takes no notice.
Have the other guards realized what’s happening? I swivel around to look out of the rear window, but I can’t see any other vehicles. I don’t know where we are. This isn’t the usual route. We’re surrounded by derelict buildings, weed-choked concrete, and burned-out cars covered in gang tags.
What the fuck is going on?
If Angelo had let me have a phone, I could have called someone, but, of course, he still doesn’t trust me. I have no way of getting in touch with Kane or anyone.
The car grinds to a halt outside an old warehouse with a faded sign advertising a long-gone manufacturing business. The sun has dipped below the building roofline. Everything is gray and bleached of color.
The coppery scent of spilled blood makes my stomach heave, and it’s almost a relief when Carlo jumps out and opens my door. He bitches when I struggle like mad. Every move Kane taught me has flown straight out of my head.
I lash out with my nails and scrape scarlet lines down Carlo’s cheek.
“You’re a feisty thing,” he laughs. “They’re going to love you.”
They?
“She better not be damaged,” a haughty English voice says as I’m dragged through a metal door into a gloomy, cavernous space.
“She’s fine,” Carlos replies, shoving me forward so hard I stumble to my knees. Tears prick my eyes, but I focus on the voice. I don’t recognize it, and when I look up, I know I’ve not seen this man before.
He’s dressed in a tweed suit with a mustard-colored silk scarf around his neck. It’s both ridiculous and creepy. A pair of cold blue eyes gaze down at me, utterly devoid of emotion. This man doesn’t see me as a person; that much is clear.
“Get up, my dear.”
I glance around, searching for an exit while brushing the dust from my hands.
“Do you have a death wish?” I ask the man. A faint smirk of amusement appears.
“Why would you think that, my dear?” God, he sounds like he walked off the set of Downton Abbey. What’s a stuck-up guy like him doing here? It makes no sense.
“Because my husband will be furious that you kidnapped me, and he’s not known for his easygoing nature.”
Carlos says nothing, but I wonder if he’s worried about the repercussions of betraying his boss. If I were in his shoes, I’d be terrified.
“I hope this asshole paid you a shit ton of money, Carlos.”
Carlos has the temerity to laugh, but the sound cuts off when, quick as a flash, the English dude pulls a gun and shoots him dead.
My ears ring once again, and I try not to wince. Two corpses in one day is my hard limit.
“Is loyalty a red line for you?”
“Yes. Any man who will betray their boss so easily is not a good fit for my organization.” Fuck me, he sounds like a corporate drone. Have I somehow become part of a recruitment drive for MI5?
“Do I get a pension plan and healthcare benefits?” I’m trying hard not to lose my shit, but I’m so far out of my depth right now it’s like being in an alternate reality.
The English dude ignores me and signals to someone lurking behind him. “Call the pilot and then deal with that mess.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Come, Chiara. We have a long journey ahead.” He reaches for my wrist, but I snatch it back. He sighs as if I’m a naughty child refusing to cooperate.
“Where are you taking me?”
“You’re not that bright, are you?” he tuts. “Is my accent not a clue?”
His lips curl up in an amused smile as the color drains from my face. If he takes me out of the country, I’m fucked. There’s no way I can escape if I’m dumped in a foreign country with no money or passport.
“You won’t get away with this!” I hiss before I make a bid for freedom. The trouble is, for an older dude wearing a ridiculous suit, he’s twice as fast as me and surprisingly strong.
“Save your energy, little rabbit. You’ll need it for the Hunt.”
To be continued…